On family holidays, we have always stayed in nice places. Often large villas, sometimes hotels.
And I must admit, I do like staying in nice places. I mean, I really like staying in nice places. But it wasn’t until I went to Greece with a group of girl friends that I realised that accommodation simply isn’t the most important thing. Good trips aren’t dependent on where you stay. What matters is where you go and who you go with.
At the end of July 2011, at about 10pm one evening, six friends and I boarded a flight from Heathrow to Athens. I think we landed in Athens at about 4am. We gathered our luggage and searched for a bus that would take us to the port.
It is only in the last few years that I have stopped hating long-haul flights. I think it was the boredom that I found really frustrating. And being so uncomfortable that you can’t possibly fall asleep. I would end up feeling so tired and irritable that even the films available didn’t have a chance of cheering me up. Add in an abysmal meal and that probably explains my hatred.
So what changed? Because in the last few years I’ve come to quite enjoy long-haul flights – which probably isn’t a bad thing, having spent 23 hours on three different flights to travel from Hoi An to Heathrow last year.